Our “Soccer Saturday” began alright, up and out the door and on the field by 8:45am for our 9am game.
Everything was going according to plan. Kids in uniform? Check. Kids playing and having fun? Check. Parents cheering? Check. Hubby coaching five games back to back? Check. (I know, I know)
While hubby was busy coaching our eleventy-billion children’s games, I was busy wrangling baby dude and my terrorist toddler on the sidelines, flinging drinks and snacks and such at them while I worried about the games. Why worry, you ask?
During our soccer activities totally five hours on the field, never once had I paid attention to us on the sideline, in that I never noticed we were getting crispy. Hell, I hadn’t considered sunblock, it was cloudy.
And sometimes I was lucky and had help. Not once in all my game-watching, picture-taking, snack-feeding, water-dispensing, fight-moderating, toddler-fetching in those five hours had I noticed that beneath the cloud cover on the grass we were frying like an egg in butter.
But then my friend Linda, fellow soccer mom comrade-in-arms says to me, in the gentlest way possible, “You’re burnin’, girl.” And it was instantaneous. The flames. As soon as she uttered those words, my skin could seriously have lit a candle, it was that hot.
Hey, you mean the lobster look isn’t in right now? Damn.
And oh, the joy of joys coming home to take a peek at what I’d done. And even better, discovering you weren’t the only one affected.
Oh dude, mommy is so sorry!
Hubby even got in on the sunburn action, too.
And while my daughter didn’t get sunburned, look at what she did while playing goal!
(Apparently, Friday the 13th can happen on Saturday, in case you weren’t aware.)
That should be framed and hung for Who’s Not Gonna Win The Mother of the Year Award, dontcha think?
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